


A Hunter's Bed

by thegirlnamedcove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, But her grossness is not explicit, Except for how the timeline is garbage, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, References to Kate Argent, Sad Ending, The Argent Family, Werewolf Hunters, Why is there no tag for a past fic?, canon compatible, like a future fic, no happy ending, only in the past, so much, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-24 01:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlnamedcove/pseuds/thegirlnamedcove
Summary: Surveillance was all it was meant to be, cautious and subtle, but Chris and Kate each found their way to disobedience, one for mercy and one in defiance of it.





	A Hunter's Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I know the timeline doesn’t work out. I worked for two days rearranging things, adding and subtracting characters and storylines to try and make it line up and it just can’t. But you know what, I like the story too much to let it languish in my drafts on a technicality, so I’m taking a page out of Jeff Davis’ page and handwaving all the discrepancies away.
> 
> A warning for lots of internalized homophobia, and Chris's inherent bigotry. Even when being tender he says and thinks some incredibly shitty things. I hope I accurately portrayed the issues with and consequences of those views, but they aren't explicitly criticized in dialogue so...
> 
> And a general warning for Kate Argent, who is a blight on mankind.
> 
> Story idea comes from this lovely gifset: http://halbarryislife.tumblr.com/post/157082625102/you-werent-the-first-wolf-to-climb-into-a

It wasn’t often that Gerard trusted his children with ops of their own, and never without full approval of the rest of their team. They were trained--Chris and Kate had both made their silver bullets the moment they hit eighteen, twelve and fourteen years ago respectively. But the Argent family was large, and the hunters who fought with them under other names were numerous, and it was only a select few who were ever tapped to work alone. The pride swelling in Chris’s chest as he waited on one of the chairs in the basement beside his sister was expected.

What was out of place was the fear nipping at its heels. Whatever reason his father had to want to speak to them alone didn’t feel good, or at least that’s what his instincts were telling him.

The door at the top of the stairs swung open, letting in the chatter of the dinner still carrying on, and then closed as Gerard’s footsteps started to descend.

“Thanks for waiting, I know it’s boorish of me to ask you to leave such a nice party,” he smiled when he settled in front of him, legs shoulder width apart as if ready to fight, “It’s for a good cause, though. I won’t bother with a lot of build up. We need you two to do some recognizance.”

Kate pouted and slumped back in her chair.

“What? Like bugging phones and following cars? You didn’t need all the cloak and dagger to assign us shit work.”

Gerard smiled at her, and Chris rolled his eyes internally. Back talk was not tolerated in their household, except when Kate did it to their father, and then it only seemed to endear her to him more.

“Oh, it’s a bit more sophisticated than that, sugar.”

He paced the length of the room, grabbing a few books and binders as he went.

“There’s been a series of attacks on women around town. Two died, but two survived and described the attacker as inhuman in appearance with ‘intense eyes’. We’ve heard that rationalization before, haven’t we?” he handed a binder to each of them, “The attacker was always male, and young, which leaves us with only two suspects locally, both Hale boys. Derek and Peter.”

Kate grinned and flipped through her binder, where a school photo of a teenage boy smiled back at her. Chris opened his own to see a far away candid shot of a man, close to his own age, with blond hair and a strong jaw. Chris had seen him around town, smiled at him in line for Starbucks, that sort of thing. He’d considered slipping him his number, but quailed at the flicker of blue he saw when the man got irritated at a vending machine. Below the photo was his name, Peter Hale, and he skimmed over age and status and a list of common hangouts.

“I need you both to insert yourselves into your target’s life. Kate, that teaching degree will come in handy for once, Derek’s school needs substitutes badly. Chris, you’re on your own for how to approach him. Strictly low contact, we don’t need to go creating a scene, especially considering that Alpha Hale knows who the Argents are and what both of you look like. Although,” a cruel smirk played around his mouth, “I’ve heard on the grapevine that the older one, Peter, is a fag. It might not be the worst idea to flirt with the little bastard, see if that greases the way for you.”

Chris nodded, his throat tight, and began to read.

 

***

 

Chris loved Victoria. She was ferocious and fearless, with all the strength he remembered his G rand-mère Collette having before she passed. She bore their daughter admirably, stood her ground when Gerard was getting uppity, pushed for stricter and stricter training standards when new hunters wandered into the scene thinking they could be cowboys. She was every bit an Argent woman, despite being born a Dumont. If he could have he would have stayed with her and only her forever, but the fact remained: she wasn’t a man and she never could be for him.

Gay is not something an Argent was allowed to be. Chris was lucky to have married someone he could love, even platonically, and luckier still that she understood his predicament, being in much the same situation. The old hunting families had Traditions and Bloodlines to uphold, and your own preferences weren’t considered all that important next to the sacred duty of continuing the line. They’d made it work between them, and produced their heir, and then gone on to lead their own surreptitious lives.

Gerard didn’t know, or at least Chris didn’t think he knew. Victoria’s affairs were well hidden, conducted only during the times when Gerard was out of town, and with such a clean separation between her personal and public life that there wasn’t even a glimmer of recognition on her face when her latest conquest was the one to check them out at the grocery store.

But Chris wasn’t nearly as good. He’d always been softer. More sentimental. Victoria loved that about him, but he couldn’t help but see the weakness of it, especially here and now, as he handed over his debit card to a blond muscular Peter Hale behind the desk of the local mechanic’s shop and wondered just how much flirting Gerard would buy as happening in the line of duty.

His car wasn’t in need of real service of course. He’d parked alongside the road in the preserve and filed down his timing belt until it snapped, just for the excuse to call the tow with panic creeping into his voice. It had arrived within half an hour, an unfamiliar face driving but obviously a wolf based on the way he’d held his hands, fingers curled like he was fighting claws, when the tow hook slipped and sliced his fingers along the knuckle. Now, with a lengthy repair underway and nothing else planned for the rest of the afternoon, he leaned against the desk and tried not to look as nervous as he felt.

“Looming doesn’t become you,” Peter drawled without looking up from the computer screen, “Nor will it get your soccer mom car fixed any faster.”

“I have time. I was more curious to ask about you. I don’t mean this badly but you don’t seem like the mechanical type,” he gestured broadly at the Gucci sunglasses resting on top of Peter’s head and the far-too-small Hermes sweater stretched out across his chest--as if it didn’t matter at all to him that the damn thing probably cost two thousand dollars, “How’d you end up working in a place like this?”

Peter smirked, “Good eye. That was almost insulting, but you didn’t quite stick the landing. No, I’m filling in for my good-for-nothing cousin who’s decided to go off on a bender while he mourns the loss of his girlfriend of one month. Pathetic.”

“Were you supposed to give me that much detail out to strangers?” Chris took back his card but let his gaze linger on the man’s hands. They were strong, thick-fingered, and sure in their movements. He snapped his eyes up again when Peter spoke, not missing the smug look on his face when he caught Chris staring.

“Probably not. My dear sister will be so disappointed in me, but then that’s just what I am: the family disappointment.”

“Well, I feel cheated then,” Chris grinned, “You haven’t disappointed me yet.”

 

***

 

“Subject Peter Hale: Age 30. Sporadically employed by his sister Alpha Talia Hale but no career. Graduate Degree in Grecian History--”

“What the hell does his schooling have to do with the murders?” Gerard sneered, “This isn't his biography, kid.”

“Thank you Gerard, that is enough,” Victoria said, and swatted his hand with her pen.

“--and a Bachelors in Military Tactics,” Chris kept his gaze on the page, but heard a pleased hum from Victoria all the same, “He drives a number of cars, most borrowed from family or the mechanic shop's bank of loaners, so we'd be working off unreliable plates if we ever attempt to trail him. Regular visits to the Panther nightclub where Victim Number One was picked up as well as to the trails where Victim Number Three was found but no connection so far to Victims Two and Four. I've established a routine with him every Wednesday running in the preserve, and expect to gain access to his house within the week.”

He looked up at the group assembled. Victoria sat at his left at the head of the table and his father was across from him. Kate frowned over her own file at Gerard’s elbow and snapped her fingers at one of the Porter men two seats down for a pen which he dutifully handed over with hearts in his eyes. Chris held back from rolling his eyes only through sheer power of will. Another conquest, undoubtedly, and younger than the last by at least a couple years.

Down the table sat an assortment of Porters, Greenbergs, and Hestons from all over Nevada. They'd been passing through to Northern California when they'd heard about the active killer in Beacon Hills and stopped in to lend a hand. More concerning, to Chris’s eye, were the chairs they sat in that were normally occupied by Argent lieutenants.

“Military tactics?” Kate said, “Do you think that's related to the way he stalked them?”

“It's possible. Each one was led into an isolated area by someone other than our intense eyed friend which suggests working in groups to catch prey.”

“Or it could just mean they waited for the women to break off from the herd for their own reasons, we could end up interrogating a bunch of waiters and park rangers without cause,” Gerard said.

“If it is a group effort that suggests something more insidious than a mad dog,” Victoria said, “We'd be negligent not to at least check it out. You said you'd be able to get into his apartment, is that a B&E or a social visit?”

“Social visit.”

“So you'll be supervised most likely. Okay, let's get a few people scoping out the other suspects involved, see if they're wolves or even wolf adjacent, and report back.”

“I don't understand how any human ends up running with wolves,” the eldest Heston sneered, “I couldn’t stand some hound constantly sniffing after me like my ass was a dead racoon.”

Kate tipped back in her chair and rolled back her shoulders in a stretch. The Porter kid watched the movement with undisguised hunger.

“Who says your ass is that appealing, old man?”

“Kate,” Victoria warned, and she rolled her eyes and fell forward again.

“Okay, so, my turn,” she flipped back to the first page of her report, “Subject Derek Hale: Age 16. Sophomore in High School, no job, basketball team and drama are his only extracurriculars. Luckily I managed to land the substitute position in the one class he’s failing, psychology, so I’ll be able to hold him after school once or twice a week for tutoring. No connection to the nightclub that I know of, and I don’t have high hopes with how babyfaced he is, but I did hear him and some friends make some plans to go to the improvised skate park in the woods, which is equidistant between Victim Three’s rescue point and Victim Four’s body discovery.”

Victoria nodded, “Keep on course, then, the both of you, and report back anything and everything at the next meeting. Considering that one of these wolves is a minor I want to be absolutely sure which one is committing the murders and if anyone else is involved before we act. Being cautious is our best chance at this juncture.”

Gerard drew himself up, a criticism pushing at his lips, but she leveled him with a stern glare and stood before he got a chance to talk. When she strode from the room Chris followed, and the murmurs of the others blessedly faded away.

In their room, with the door securely fastened, Victoria sprawled out on the bed and groaned.

“I swear your father is one or two missions away from getting himself some silicone tits just so he can boss  _ someone _ around.”

Chris chuckled and sat on the edge of the mattress.

“He bosses plenty of people around.”

“Not the people he wants to,” she peeked from behind one eyelid at her husband and smiled, “How’d someone like you ever come out of someone like him, huh? You’re a good soldier, a great soldier. That just spring forth out of the ether?”

“He follows leaders that do what he wants them to do. It was easy for him to be obedient when someone as reckless as mom was in charge. Less so with you.”

“That’s not a very nice way to talk about your mother, Christopher,” her expression was drawn but her voice teasing, “She was a delight.”

“The day we got married she brought a flask of limoncello, took two sips, and when she didn’t like it poured the rest into that decorative fountain.”

Victoria barked a laugh and descended into snorts and giggles. Chris slumped down next to her and smiled, watching her face crinkle up like paper.

“We had to buy that stupid thing! I think we still have it somewhere.”

“Mm-hmm, back garden,” he said, “although the butterfly bushes have overtaken it mostly.”

“Well good riddance. And may she rot.”

“May everyone but you rot, Tori.”

 

***

 

Dating Peter Hale was a surprisingly mellow affair. It had been weeks of “reconnaissance”, with no real end in sight in terms of finding their smoking gun, and Chris was starting to get worryingly comfortable in their habits. Sure, Peter liked his imported espresso, and gaudy bistros, and could be a bit of a lush when they went out to dinner, but after a couple dates and one impressively bad attempt at a hot air balloon ride, it turned out he was just as content for Chris to show up at his door with a box of cheap pink wine and a pile of board games and while away an evening in the den.

“There is no way Angrboda is a real word!”

“It is so, she’s one of Loki’s wives and she’s very pretty,” Peter pushed at the board insistently, displacing some of the letter tiles.

“Loki? Like in The Mask?”

“Ugh, you have such garbage taste in movies, Chris. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Chris smirked against the rim of his glass, “Because I’m the only one who knows how much of a nerd you are, and I’m willing to blackmail you with it.”

“Hey! Rules of Drunk Scrabble includes no insults. This is a game of intellect and class, not base urges.”

“So what was Drunk Monopoly then?”

Peter’s expression went grim, the argument and thrown dice from an hour ago clearly playing in his head. For just a second, his eyes bled blue.

“A game of murder and betrayal.”

They held each other's gaze for a beat before Chris snorted and they descended back into comfortable bickering over proper nouns and extra points. It was easy, being with Peter. He had a knack for knowing when Chris needed levity and when he needed seriousness, and could switch between them with grace. After yet another strategy-meeting-turned-dickwaving-contest, Chris welcomed the respite of his overstyled apartment.

Although was more than just Peter’s space, at this point, wasn’t it? It was frightening how quickly they had moved, how soon Chris had gotten his own drawer in the bedroom and toothbrush by the sink. They’d slept together that first day, after the repairs on the car were finished, and it hadn’t slowed from there, something breathless and exhilarating about the way they fit so easily together. He could see himself here for years to come, under different circumstances. If they were different people, with different goals, and he didn’t have to write a single godforsaken report ever again. He was leaving more and more out these days.

“So,” Peter said, suddenly soft and somber, “I want to talk to you about something. And it’s a lot to take in, I know that, so if you want leave after--to process or just to leave--that’s fine. But I need you to hear it, at least this once.”

Chris set his glass down and straightened up. The edge of nerves in Peter’s voice was unsettling, and something acidic curled in his gut at the sound.

“A family member of mine, about a year ago, lost a relationship that was important to him because he wasn’t truthful. I advised him on the situation at the time, about how I thought he should be honest eventually, but careful in what he revealed and how. It ended poorly, more poorly than anyone could have imagined, and it drove home, for me, that telling was better than keeping secrets, at least when it comes to romantic partners...”

He hesitated, eyes fixed on his fingers, and Chris was never happier he didn’t have backup listening in or a recording device on his person because this tenderness was more than he ever wanted to share with the hunters at home.

“You’re important to me, Chris. I know it hasn’t been that long, barely two months, but you are, and I can’t imagine sharing this kind of thing after six months has passed or a year. So...I know this will be hard to believe but,” he took a breath in and held it as raised his eyes and flashed them a bright ice blue, “I’m a werewolf.”

Chris sat frozen for minutes at a time. He’d known of course, but it was more than that. More than hearing him admit to the plain fact of his curse. Knowing hunters lived in town, as Peter must, knowing how unfriendly most of the world was to their kind, knowing he could never fit in in civilized society, he trusted Chris with this most precious secret. He trusted him with knowledge that could be used to gut him. The room felt empty of air.

“Peter,” he breathed, and then surged forward and kissed him, his heart thundering in his chest. When he broke away, thrumming with energy and emotion he started to ramble against his will.

“I have to know...I can’t...I have my own secrets and I owe you them in return--”

“No, you don’t, Chris--”

“Yes, I do. But I have to know first: those women who died, the ones on the news, were those you? Or anyone you know?”

Peter reeled back as if slapped, one hand still on Chris’s neck where it had settled during the kiss, and Chris cringed but held his gaze steady.

“I have to know.”

“ _ No _ , Chris. We’re predators, not killers. Even if we wanted to expand our pack or our territory, and somehow a bunch of drunk college girls were what we needed to make that happen, that wasn’t done by any wolf. The pictures they released, no wolf’s teeth are that huge. It’s just not possible.”

He couldn’t hear a heartbeat, had no basis for detecting lies, but Chris knew in some instinctual part of him that it was true. Or maybe he just wanted it to be true hard enough. He kissed Peter’s lips, and then his cheek, and along his jaw towards the place where his pulse was vital and strong.

“I believe you,” he murmured, “I do. And Peter…”

Peter groaned softly and he pulled back, finding the glowing eyes and holding them.

“You deserve to know too. My family, all of us, we’re hunters.”

 

***

 

“How long does this tape go on?” Victoria asked, eyes fixed on the attractive man on screen leaning into a young girl's space.

“All night,” Gerard smiled, “and we’ve got the tapes from every other night as well. Every girl was led away from well lit areas under a different pretext, but always the same man. Here in a staff outfit.”

He held up a surveillance photo of a waiter, his head covered by a tightly tied scarf.

“Here in street clothes.”

He lounged against the wall by the entrance, smoking a cigarette with a newsboy cap slung backwards on his head.

“And two times as a valet.”

A night shot and a day shot each showed him in trousers and a button down shirt, open at the neck. His hair was longer there, and braided, sitting oddly as if it wasn’t affixed to his head. A wig, maybe.

“Have we found him yet?”

“Well, he isn’t on staff records anywhere, and no one remembers him arriving or leaving. My guess is some kind of glamour, based on how easily he was able to integrate into the environment and get people to work with him and comply.”

“A glamour,” Chris hummed, “But wolves can’t do magic.”

“No,” Gerard sighed, and tossed his pen down with more force than necessary, “They can’t. We caught a glimpse here, two hours in, of him leading the girl down the hallway and...there.”

He pointed at the back of the man’s head where his hand was tugging at the ties of the scarf. It loosened from his head and fell away just before they rounded the corner, and Gerard tapped the button to freeze the image before he slipped out of sight. On the back of his head a hyena’s face took the place of his hair, and it’s mouth was pouring saliva and grinning, manic. The teeth, Chris noticed, were massive.

“So what is it?” Victoria asked.

“A Kishi, usually found in Angola, Africa. They put forward a beautiful face in front, charm and coerce their prey into going with them alone, then turn their limbs and twist around to show their second face. Hence the survivors thinking they were led away by someone separate to who attacked them. Cannibalistic, mostly loners, but blessedly mortal if we can resist their charm. Any old bullet will do.”

She hummed, but inclined her head at the few hunters milling around by the door pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Not our usual fare, but it’s killed too many to ignore. Talk to Cynthia Porter in the guest house about setting up a honeypot to draw him in.”

They nodded and one enthusiastic teenager saluted before taking off down the stairs towards the outer doors. She watched the screen a few minutes longer, staring at the still face before shivering and turning away.

“Time to call off our surveillance of the Hales then. I trust you'll get a hold of your daughter, Gerard.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to pull our moles out after all the work we’ve put into placing them,” his voice was slippery and paternal, just like every other time he thought he had an angle he could work, “A pack that big, with those kind of connections, you know they’re doing something wrong.”

“No, I don’t know that, and I won’t waste resources on a snipe hunt. Call your daughter in the morning and tell her to quit the substitute job. Chris, break off the friendship with Peter, cleanly. We don’t want to burn bridges in case this needs to be revisited, but we can’t have him guessing at your affiliations or motives.”

“Will do,” he replied, and then turned heel to escape the argument he knew was brewing. Gerard did not look ready to give up the fight.

Outside, under the safety light that shone on their side yard, he stared at his phone for what felt like a year. Cleanly. He was supposed to break things off cleanly. What did that even mean in this case? Every instinct and fiber of his training was screaming at him that he was wrong and disgusting for even contemplating a continued relationship but, well, isn’t that what he had with every man he’d ever been with? Maybe this one man, this one wolf, could be the exception to the code, something he could keep apart from his family. Apart from Tori. It was thrilling and frightening in equal measure.

He thumbed open the lock screen and opened up a new message.

 

**_To: Peter Hale_ ** _ Want to get together tonight? There’s a lot to tell you. _

 

After a few moments a reply popped up, and Chris smiled.

 

**_From: Peter Hale_ ** _ Look up, genius. Full moon. With the pack at the house, and won’t be out until tomorrow, but text me in the morning. _

 

He pocketed his phone and took a shaky breath in and out. He was used to secrets. He could do this.

Later that night his sleep was disturbed by the sound of fire engines.

 

***

 

It was early morning, and cold, when they met again, when Kate was dead and Peter was not. The ghost, or maybe hallucination, of him slouched against Chris’s SUV with a haughty arrogance he wasn’t used to seeing on his face, not directed at him anyway. But it had been a long time, almost a decade, and he supposed he’d lost the right to any soft glances from the wolf.

“You know, Scott came to ask me about Derek the other day. Wanted an explanation for him and Kate, and everything that led to the fire. What we did to deserve it.”

Chris swallowed and averted his eyes. He’d explained it to Peter a thousand times in his head, rationalized it and justified it over and over, and each explanation ran together in a jumble when he opened his mouth.

“We were going to stop following you, after that night. We verified you weren’t hurting anyone and we called it off, but Kate--”

“Do you know what I told him? I told him that we did deserve it. That we’d made a crucial mistake, the same one he’s making every day by treating your daughter like anything other than a junior serial killer. I told him that he wasn’t the first to climb into a hunter’s bed.”

He pushed off the car and made to leave, and Chris scrambled for any purchase he could get to make him stay.

“I’m not--It’s different now, the Argents are different--Peter, if we could just talk and maybe--Peter...Peter, I loved you.”

At that he stops short and turns back.

“You didn’t know me long enough to love me. But you know, I really think I could have loved you, given enough time.”

He shook Chris’s hand off the arm of his coat and then he was gone, escaping into the department store Chris had just exited. The hunter dropped his gaze to the side mirror and his shoulders sagged as he studied his eyes. Ice blue, just like always. It ran in his family.


End file.
